Improvised Dinner
by onmyside
Summary: What happened after Charles Carson had to cook for the first time in his life? Not what you think... A little ficlet that is supposed to fill the "gap".


_Yes, I know... Thirty Days needs 21 more chapters :-p but then this happened... and I had to write it before 6.8 - ENJOY!_

 ** _Improvised dinner_**

* * *

The dirty dishes from their somewhat improvised dinner soak in the sink. She dips her finger into the water: it is ice cold instead of luke-warm. Smiling, she shakes her head, dries her hand (no longer bandaged) on a dishtowel. She has only been upstairs for twenty minutes, maybe half an hour, to change into something more comfortable while entrusting him with the unpopular task of washing the dishes. And now the kitchen it empty, the table cleared and wiped clean and their dirty dishes are exactly where they should be. He had cooked the entire meal, just like Mrs Patmore predicted. Although nothing had been done with his usual sense for perfection, there had been no complaints about the tasks she had given him.

Elsie had never seen him like that, so flustered, unsure in what he was doing. Still, it had been worth a try to show him how difficult cooking was, how much energy it required after a long day of work at the house. But now she is not entirely sure whether their idea had been a good one. True, he upset her with his words, but then she never told him that because she knew he was oblivious of their effect, said them without intending to hurt her feelings.

She lets the towel drop with a sigh, rolls up the sleeves of her blouse and takes the kettle from the hearth to fill it with fresh water.

In the few minutes it takes her to clean their plates and cutlery, she has not heard a single sound of him. She knows he is not upstairs in their bedroom. And he also has not left the cottage. The door makes a very distinct, creaking noise when he closes it. She would have heard. And surely he would have joined her in the kitchen to help, even stop her from hurting her hand even more (the one that is perfectly fine). Elsie hangs the now wet dishtowel on its hook by the sink, fixes her blouse and tugs a few lose strands of hair back into place before she leaves the kitchen to look for him.

ooooo

Her search is successful right away. There, on the small couch in their living room, he lies on his side, a hand under his head, legs tucked up. Unlike earlier, he does not snore this time, is fast asleep, his breathing deep and even. The unfamiliar task of preparing and cooking an elaborate dinner has exhausted him completely. Elsie can only remember one day when she has seen him like this before: after Lady Rose's ball in London two years ago. She had found him sleeping in his chair, a forgotten cup of coffee next to him on a table (cold of course). They had been on their feet for almost an entire day. She watched him sleep back then, does the same now.

He looks so very peaceful, his hair ruffled, cheeks rosy and the cuffs of his shirt open. She stands next to him for a moment, unable to move, let alone wake him. She is suddenly overcome by her emotions, the love she feels for him. After a few minutes, she finally decides to kneel down on a cushion he had put on the floor to make room for his body on the small couch. Tentatively but gently, Elsie caresses his cheek, leans down to kiss his brow. He does not wake, only heaves a small sigh. She strokes his hair, pushes the lovely curl away from his forehead, places another kiss there before she whispers his name.

"Charles, it's late."

He moves his head, mumbles something in his sleep that sounds like _crumble_ and she almost laughs out loud. The poor man is haunted in his dreams by his unexpected cooking ordeal. Elsie bites her lip, supresses a giggle that threatens to escape. He looks adorable, beautiful even and now that she sees him like this, she can easily forgive him every critical word he has ever uttered about her cooking skills. Tonight he has made up for it. And Elsie is confident that this first real challenge they had to face as a married couple is settled. It has not been the ideal way of dealing with the matter but they'll learn from it, find a better way the next time.

"Charles, love."

She whispers again, kisses his forehead gently.

"It's time we go to bed."

He wakes with a start, eyes wide open, staring at her. For a moment he looks as if he forgot where he is but then a small smile appears on his lips. "I must've fallen asleep."

"The couch is not a good place for that." Slowly, carefully, she gets up from her uncomfortable position on the floor, offers him her hand. "We better go to bed properly."

He rubs the sleep from his eyes with one hand before slowly sitting up. "I still have to do the washing up. I know you said it can wait until the next morning but I'd rather finish it now."

"Don't worry about it."

"No, it's best if I…"

She interrupts him gently, "I've finished it for you."

Finally he looks up into her face. "But your hand?"

Elsie moves her wrist, carefully, flexes her fingers. "It feels much better."

There is a bit of scepticism in his look but then he shakes his head, pushes himself up from the couch. "I'm glad to hear it. But please see Dr Clarkson anyway, just to make sure?" He takes her offered hand, lifts it to his lips and kisses it gently. "I'll never be a cook and I'm afraid we'll be very hungry should I continue to be in charge of our dinners. We better leave it to Mrs Patmore. Or you can prepare them, but only if you want to. I won't press you anymore." He hesitates, then continues, his voice very deep and quiet now. "And I'm sorry for my constant criticism."

Elsie takes a step towards him, closes the gap, encircles his waist and pulls him into an embrace. "I should've said something", she mumbles into his chest. His apology is heartfelt, honest.

"You should've yelled at me, thrown a plate at me." She feels his chuckle.

"Ruin our beautiful tableware? Never."

ooooo

The bedroom is dark. They have not lit a fire. It's their own bodies that keep them warm tonight. She lies on her side, snuggled into his embrace. One arm is draped around her waist, his left hand strokes her hair. She kisses his bare chest, elicits a little sigh from him. He pulls her even closer so that she has to rest her head on his upper arm, her head tucked underneath his chin.

All of this had been easy for them from the start. In Scarborough they had been shy, nervous, unsure how to start. But then he had made the first move and soon clothes were discarded and they had spent a wonderful first night together.

It is the everyday routines that are problematic for both of them. Waking up in the morning in one bed, not two in different rooms, sharing a bathroom, walking to the big house from their cottage instead of descending the stairs from the attic. That is what still feels unreal. And adapting to that will take much longer than learning how to share a bed.

At Downton they simply left the other alone after a trying day. Now they talk about work at their own dinner table, can no longer go outside into the backyard for a breath of fresh air or into the wine cellar to hide for an hour. Elsie thinks that this is the main reason why he has been so distant sometimes, so intent on having everything at the cottage as perfect as at the Abbey. The bed, the table setting, their meals, everything. It's what he knows, it's his daily routine, what he is used to, what makes him feel secure and in control.

Being with her like this, naked, sleeping in one bed, snuggled into their blanket, is new for both of them. An experience they both make for the first time. Elsie moves her head, wants to look into his face. His eyes are closed, he is falling asleep again. She kisses his lips nevertheless. Sleepily he returns it.

"I love you," he whispers.

"I love you too." She snuggles back into the crook of his neck. There is a new plan forming in her head, an idea. She does not want them to argue any more at home. At work maybe because she enjoys their little quarrels. But at home they need more moments that are both new for them, like sharing the work in the kitchen, or making the bed together. Then, she is sure of that, his perfectionism will slowly soften and make room for Charles, the man, her husband, the love of her life. And leave the butler at the Abbey.

* * *

THE END

 _I hope you like it. Let me know what you think :)_


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